We Meet..."
by marxandengels
Summary: It always got me that Obi gets landed with Abi and has no objections...


  
  
  
"We Meet..."  
  
Disclaim-a-go-go: Rating is probably P.G.-13 for that which is not   
described (Ooooh!), but then I'm terrible at rating things, so who   
knows. As for copyright, it's all mine through crafty and evil   
failure to use proper nouns. Mwahahahahahahaaaa! ( That aside, it's   
O/f ) Archive as you wish, cos I are nice that way. Nods of   
inspiration to Germaine Greer and Iris-Wildthyme-out-of-Doctor-Who.   
It's less than 900 words, so you might as well read it, eh? Archive as you see fit, feedback welcome.   
  
  
We meet, as such acquaintances do, in a café near the city centre.   
The passing traffic competes for attention with the jukebox nestled   
at the back of the room, next to the facilities. I slip the book I   
have been reading into my bag as he arrives, and he raises an eyebrow   
at the title as it slips from his view. I meet his gaze. He is the   
first to falter. I smile, it's irrelevant. Smiles diffuse tension so   
well, I find. Has he been taking care of himself? Yes, eating and,   
yes, sleeping healthily. I show surprise, not entirely insincere.   
Well, there's the boy to think of, is his answer. Got to set an   
example, you know how it is. I nod yes, although I don't know from   
direct experience. He has a beard now, the undisciplined sort that   
suggests a lack of intention. I sometimes wonder if men know how   
women feel about beards. His hair, by contrast - Deliberate?, I muse -  
has been trimmed recently, but still brushes his shoulders. We   
negotiate our way through the usual formalities of weather and   
health, and he asks where I've been these past few months. I recount   
my recent adventures, filling in some details since our last meeting.   
He responds with interested nods and polite questioning, the   
occasional laugh at the more humorous interludes. Is there a hint of   
jealousy as he listens? I prefer to think not. His tales are more   
domestic. Caring for his young charge, the trials of the parental   
role. But so rewarding, he assures me. To help another grow and   
learn, a symbiotic relationship. Giving something back to the   
Universe. He tells me these things with enthusiasm, selling a   
lifestyle. Don't you want one?, he asks. I shake my head. Too much   
responsibility, too much regulation, too much damned effort. I value   
my current freedom. Maybe later, but not at our age. He gets an odd   
look in his eyes. Well, yes, but still...there are different kinds of   
freedom, he falters slightly. This is so rewarding, so challenging.   
And as he gets older, well, there are opportunities even now. But   
maybe I need a break from all that adventuring. It gets a little   
selfsame. And this is so rewarding, of course. No mention, I note, of   
a promise of care extracted in exceptional circumstances, of a   
relationship seeded in failure. Or of a fear of further failure when   
success may bring redemption. Is it our surroundings, or am I no   
longer considered close enough to cry on? This has been my worry   
where he is concerned. At the time he needs support to acclimatise to   
his new life, his contemporaries are moving off into their own   
worlds, his path one we plan to tread later, once we have had the   
chance to explore existence for ourselves. The very nature of his   
new life deprives him of the help he needs to understand it. Meetings   
like this will become rarer, I know. He knows this too. Distance has   
many meanings, and alas they often converge. This is the context in   
which one of us casually asks, and the other one responds in the   
affirmative, and we leave the café together.  
The rooms are rather pointedly available to rent by the hour, but   
there isn't much alternative. He has the boy to consider, and my   
place is not an option. Does he know why? So seedy it must be. The   
proprietor hands over the keys with a deliberate glance at the clock   
on the wall behind him. Your time starts now.   
Objectively, it's good but nothing our kind can't get easily   
elsewhere. The mental communion we sought has a few awkward false   
starts before we decide not to bother. The uncertain silence   
afterwards is broken by constraints of time. The keys are returned to   
knowing innuendoes and a filthy grin.   
Another café, because a return to the first seems conspicuous. There   
is no change in interaction - the union during our bought time was a   
recurrence rather than an alteration. Our kind sees these things from   
an unusual perspective, I suppose. We talk of old friends and new   
plans, watching the world go by outside. We run from laughter to   
solemnity and back again. Time imposes upon us once more. We exchange   
platitudes, and arrange to meet tomorrow, as I will be in town for   
the next few days. We walk out into a slight rain, and part for our   
respective homes. I have to start getting packed for my next journey,   
he has to take care of the boy he chose by circumstance. He   
mentioned, as we sat in our second café, that travel didn't really   
appeal anyway. That the boy was company if nothing else, and that   
gallivanting off on his own would have been too lonely to contemplate   
even if he'd had the choice. Isolation, he maintained, would have   
been worse. He has direction, stability and purpose, what else could   
he want? Oh, and...speaking of travelling...since we're on the subject...he   
was just wondering...did I know if any of the others would be passing   
through the city any time soon?  
  
  



End file.
